


Minimal Rule and Order

by GreyLiliy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flirting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-Shots & Short Fiction revolving around a stressed Minimus Ambus trying to keep up with his energetic and youthful Captain, Rodimus, as they travel the stars on the Lost Light. (Spoilers for MTMTE)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistaken

**Author's Note:**

> This came about as a response to one of my open calls for Drabble Requests, and luckily--it's a pairing I liked. :D

Of all times for a massive malfunction in the Ultra Magnus armor to occur, during a weekly status report alone with Rodimus in the captain’s office was not one of them he had considered.

The Magnus armor was scattered about the floor, a few pieces even had landed on Rodimus’  desk when they burst off of Ambus’ form. The Captain’s hand was still gripped tight around the handle of the knife he had been using to sketch in the desk while he pretended to listen to Ultra Magnus’ report. However, Ambus wasn’t that lucky in life and now had the Captain’s complete attention. Rodimus stared straight at Ambus, optics wide and mouth agape.

Not that Minimus Ambus blamed him, what with him standing like a shocked fool in the middle of broken blue and white armor pieces.

"Rodimus, remain calm," Ambus said. He slowly reached down to pick up his report datapad, and sat it on Rodimus’ desk. He raised his hands in the air in what he hoped was a surrendering gesture. No need to startle anyone. The red mech was still gaping, but Ambus couldn’t expect the shock to last forever. Ambus reached behind him, keeping his optics glued to Rodimus for any sign of movement, and clicked the lock on the office door. "I can explain."

"Explain," Rodimus repeated back. He pulled the knife out of his desk, and used the tip to lift up a piece of armor that had crushed a datapad. "Yeah, that would be good. Now would be a great time to explain why my second-in-command exploded and left a minibot in his place."

Ambus frowned, dropping his hands a few inches. “I am not a minibot.”

"Not the point! Why are your eyes red? Are you some sort of Con impostor!?" Rodimus said, his voice rising. Air started to cycle at a faster rate  in the Captain’s body, and Ambus closed his fingers into his palms. Not good.  Rodimus stood up, nearly shouting, "What just happened!?"

"Remain calm!" Ambus moved forward, pushing a piece of armor out of the way with the side of his foot. He needed to sooth Rodimus’ confusion, and click the call switch. Chief Justice Tyrest was the only one who’d be able to get all the armor back on properly. "Rodimus!"

"No, wait. I’m not dealing with this alone," Rodimus said. He reached on the desk and groped around for his communicator. His optics were wild, and he frowned with this oh-so-familiar determined look on his face. "I’m calling Drift."

"No!" Ambus shouted. He jumped up on the desk and skid across the parts and datapads to shove his hands over Rodimus’ mouth. He knelt on the desk and got close. "No, no. No need to bring the Decept—Drift into this. I can explain. I can promise I can explain, but it’s a secret, Rodimus. Secret."

Rodimus pulled Ambus’ hands away from his mouth, and gripped Ambus wrists. On the plus side of things, it meant he had to drop the communicator. Ambus may be able to contain the situation yet. Rodimus growled, “Then start explaining!”

"My name is Minimus Ambus, and I’m the most recent Cybertronian fulfilling the role of Ultra Magnus," Ambus said, calmly and distinctly as possible. "There was a real Ultra Magnus at some point in time, but he passed away. Ever since, various Cybertronians have been filling in for him to keep his name and legacy in order and effective."

Rodimus didn’t answer, and Ambus shifted on the desk.

"It’s more of a title now, than anything, and completely top secret. But I swear to you that I’ve been in that armor long before the Lost Light left Cybertron." Minimus pulled on his wrist, the entire forearm nearly missing under Rodimus’ giant hands. Curse his size! "I am the same person who’s been your second-in-command the entire time you’ve known me. This is just me without the armor."

"Ambus," Rodimus said, letting go of the smaller ‘bot’s arms. He sat back down in his chair. "Ultra Magnus is really a tiny mech wearing armor named Minimus Ambus, who is currently sitting on my desk."

"Yes," Ambus said. He moved forward so that he could put his legs over the side of the desk. His legs tapped against Rodimus’ thighs. "You listened. Good job."

"I can do that, you know."

"I have about twenty reports that say otherwise."

Rodimus started to laugh, and covered his mouth. He rubbed his face, and leant back deeply in his chair. “Well that definitely sounded like something Magnus would say.”

"I am Magnus," Ambus sighed. He reached over and rubbed Rodimus’ shoulder. "It’s the armor that’s fake."

"Groovy," Rodimus tapped his fingers on the desk near  Ambus’ thigh.

Ambus hummed in agreement and tilted his head back. He released Rodimus shoulder and put his hand on the side of the desk—he probably should get off the furniture. It was so unprofessional and unlike him. He blamed Drift. Ambus started to scoot off the desk when the door of the office opened.

Rodimus leaned over to look past Ambus, while the green mech turned to look over his shoulder, inadvertently also moving his leg so that it was resting on Rodimus’ thigh.

Tailgate stood in the doorway, his visor unnaturally wide and body still. He squeaked, “Uh, excuse me.”

"I thought you locked that," Rodimus said to Ambus, while staring at Tailgate.

"I did," Ambus said. "How’d you get in?"

"I just clicked the door and it opened and oh man! I’m sorry!" Tailgate backed up. He looked around at the scattered armor pieces and his eyes zeroed in on Ambus and his proximity to the Captain. He gripped his hands into tiny fists and puffed up his chest. "But it’s okay! I can keep a secret! No one’ll know the captain hired a hooker or that he’s got a weird body part fetish! Secret’s safe with me! So, I’ll just be leaving now."

They both stared as the minibot dashed out of the office and headed down the hallway. The panicked tapping of his feet hitting the ground echoed loudly until the door slid shut automatically.

Ambus dropped off the desk and stood next to Rodimus. He flickered his optics once, and slowly glanced at Rodimus. “Did Tailgate just mistake me for a prostitute?”

Rodimus picked up the report pad from the desk. He snorted and threw the tablet on the desk. “My door lock being broken is number twenty three on your list.”

Ambus sighed, and rubbed between his eyes. Chief Justice Tyrest was going to have his head for this.


	2. The Desk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first drabble was a hit, and a request for a second chapter appeared. I may or may not continue, as requests are closed. We'll see. :)

“You’re not listening at all, are you?” Ambus said, dropped his datapad down a few inches below the mark of the House of Ambus. Rodimus had his head sitting on his hand, and his optics were unfocused. Ambus twitched a finger on his datapad. Rodimus was daydreaming. “I already shortened the report at your request, Sir, so you have no excuse not to pay attention to this list.” 

“I’m listening,” Rodimus said. He didn’t move, aside from a tiny quirk at the side of his mouth. “I am.”

“Oh?” Ambus tapped the pad on the top of Rodimus’ desk. He leaned over, bracing one hand behind his back. Rodimus leaned away and back into his chair. “What was the last thing I said?”

“Your mustache is really cute,” Rodimus said, innocent as a newly constructed bot.

Ambus threw the pad on the desk and collapsed in the guest chair. He rubbed the space between his optics. He knew it. He just  _knew_  Rodimus wasn’t paying attention. Ambus was too old for this. He was far, far, far too old to be dealing with this young sparkling of a commander. Ambus covered his optics with the palm of his hand. “What, may I ask, is a mustache?”

“Your facial ornamentation,” Rodimus said, holding up a finger under his nose. “The mark of the House of Ambus, or whatever. It looks like what humans called a mustache, which is a style of facial hair.”

Ambus touched the tip of one of said ornaments. Rodimus was grinning now, tapping his cheek with a single finger. Ambus dropped his hand to the armrest. “And you were focusing on that instead of my safety report?”

“It’s really hard not to. My second-in-command went from this huge, hulking behemoth to a little tiny dude with a mustache.” Rodimus grinned and pushed the unread datapad around with his finger. He had to dip it down to shove it over one of the many knife carvings on the surface. Rodimus shrugged. “It’s distracting.”

Ambus sighed heavily. “I’m not removing the symbol of my House to satisfy your absurdly short attention span.”

“Wouldn’t want you to. It’s cute.” Rodimus drummed his fingers on the desk, having abandoned the datapad. He crawled up onto the desk and laid on it. Rodimus reached over and poked Ambus in the forehead. “You’re cute.”

“Rodimus, please don’t do this. I know I don’t have quite the same intimidating figure as before, but I ask that you make things worse by completely stripping me of any respect.”

“You think I respect you less because I think you’re cuter this way?” Rodimus sat up on his elbows, his face dropping. He looked almost wounded.

Ambus didn’t fall for his turbopup eyes. “Yes.”

Rodimus dropped down, setting his chin on the desktop. He wrapped his fingers around the edge of the desk and pouted. “Well, you’re wrong. As far as I can tell, the only thing that changed about you Mr. Too-Many-Rules-Tyrest-Accord-Person, is your size.”

“And?” Ambus asked, almost regretting it.

Rodimus perked up, pulling himself up and over the desk so that his feet hit the chair on either side of Ambus. He leaned forward and bumped his helm into Ambus. “We should interface.”

Minimus Ambus stood up from his chair and grabbed his datapad from around the fiery captain. “I’ll just be dismissing myself now.”

Ambus proceeded to use his small stature to duck under the captain’s leg, leaving Rodimus’ mouth agape, and leave the office.

“Come on, Ambus! You can see it, can’t you? You and me. On top of the desk. Wires hooked up everywhere. Energy between us. The connection.” Rodimus jumped off the desk and used a knee to stand in his chair. “It’ll be fun. Maybe I can even dig out the Magnus helm and we can role-play.”

“Good day, Captain.”

Minimus Ambus closed the door with a slam, ignoring the disappointed shout that muffled through the metal. Honestly.

“On the desk? What in Primus’ name is he thinking?”  Ambus shook his head and walked away from the office and his ridiculous Captain. “I’ll have to catch him later tonight, and remind him why berths exist.”


End file.
